There I was. Plaid skirt. Shin guards. Cleats. Mouth guard. Hockey stick. I was ready, all warmed up. The refs took position in center field. The whistle blew. I was off and running, totally in control of the ball. And then—from left field!—a small hunchbacked lady in a plaid robe carrying a massive gavel came and smacked the ball right out of my possession.

“You have to be faster, faster, faster, faster. SHEILLLAAA—FASTER!!!!” On the sidelines, my coach, my mom, and the entire commonwealth of Virginia stood staring, disappointed. We lost! It was all my fault. Little robed judge with big smile stood in the middle of the field caressing her gavel with one hand and her trophy in the other. A triumphant, toothy tyrant.

I jumped out of bed. It was 4 AM. I was panting. My sheets were soaked in sweat. The judge had managed to ruin my field hockey championship in the eleventh grade. Incredible—the woman was a time and space traveler! Her “You’re not working fast enough, Sheila. You’re rilly rilly slow, Sheila” was taking its toll.

A few days earlier, I had been helping David, one of our interns, with the doctrine of qualified immunity. After three years of law school and one bar exam, I still didn’t understand the nuances of immunity, a particularly thorny patch of law. How was David supposed to get it after just two semesters of school? As I was flipping through his blue brief, attempting to assess the allegations, the judge came sauntering into my cubicle. The three of us. Same cubicle. Not so much air.

“What are you doing, Sheila?” As if it weren’t totally clear. Did she think I was giving David a blow job? David had stopped breathing.

“I’m just he-hel-helping David with qualified immun—”

“NO! NO! NO! I don’t. DO NOT have time for my law clerks to help my interns. Your time is my time and I certainly do not have time to talk to interns.” David still hadn’t taken a breath. The judge wouldn’t even address him, which was rather awkward considering she’d practically shoved her face into his perfectly still stomach. “Now, tell him to go back and figure it out. That’s why he is here. To learn. Not to receive handouts.” With that, she spun, practically knocking one dead intern into my lap, and stomped off. The judge was right—we were there to learn, and what a rich learning environment she’d created. Halfway back to her office, she turned around.

“In case you’ve all forgotten, we have A LOT of work to do. We have a sitting next week. I don’t have time for this fraternizing.” Signature move. The look behind yell. I shoved the brief at David and gently pushed him out of my cubicle.